


don't stop to check the time

by soldierly



Category: Captain America (2011), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 08:50:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldierly/pseuds/soldierly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1941, and flashy business rivals Tony Stark and Howard Stark have mountains of UST.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't stop to check the time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MetaAllu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MetaAllu/gifts).



Howard's the one who catches his eye.

Out of all the pretty dames in their slinky dresses (god _damn_ does Tony appreciate what the twenties has left them with -- the new cut of skirts, the slips of backs and chests and thighs), Howard fucking Stark is the one who draws Tony's eyes like a magnet. He talks with his hands and people flock to him when he does, hanging on his every word. Half of them don't even understand what he's talking _about_ , Tony wagers, because he talks like Tony does, with words that make the engineer in Tony fizz with joy.

He flicks his fingers at the bartender, orders another martini, and checks his watch.

Tee minus, oh, two hours, give or take, until Howard Stark is in his bed.

+++

Howard's watching him.

Everyone knows Tony -- this is Howard's gig, but they watch Tony, too, in his crisp black suit. He wore a _red shirt_ , and it's a known fact that red is _Howard's color_ , and yet there Tony is, with the first three buttons undone, so he shows enough skin to catch eyes even before people realize who they're looking at.

The other Stark, they call him. The same name, unrelated, the same skills. Stark Industries versus Stark Corporations, friendly competition that turned immediately fierce when the both of them realized that they had a true opponent in each other. Howard, for all his pride, can respect Tony's prowess, and he knows Tony's jealous that Howard got his Manhattan Project invite first.

So yeah. He's watching Tony. He's just not sure what he plans to _do_ with him yet.

+++

It's easy to get close to Howard. All Tony has to do is sidle in, catch the eye of the right reporter, and then they shift from Howard to him, and when Tony grins and gives a few answers, then makes to step toward Howard with a jaunty, "Welp, got things to discuss, people to see, worlds to build, boys," they gape as one and jitter away to observe.

"So," Tony says, quirking an eyebrow. Half his martini is already gone, oops, where did that vanish to, and Howard is looking at him like Tony is something that happened to grow on the wrong side of his favorite piece of bread.

Tony supposes it's justified, given that last time he actually held a real conversation with Howard, his intent was to distract him long enough for one of Tony's assistants-of-the-week to dump red dye on him. Boy, that was fun. He takes obscene pleasure in the way Howard glances over his shoulder.

"So, Stark?"

"Y'know, the whole condescending-use-of-the-last-name thing doesn't really work when _we have the same last name_ ," Tony points out.

Howard scoffs. "Yeah, pal, you're witty. Now step off. This is my show."

Tony leans closer, eyes glittering. "Let's make it our show."

"Our show," Howard says skeptically. "We don't share well."

"We're a we now, hm?"

Howard waves a hand. "Do I need to get security on you, Tony? Last time I threw you out ended in some embarrassing pictures, if I recall right -- and I always recall right."

Tony smiles, thoroughly sunny. "Let's not forget the time you were red for a month, then."

"Yeah, maybe, but red doesn't show up on _pictures_."

"No, it just looked like you paid someone to try to make you look less pale," Tony hums, thoughtful.

Howard sighs and drops his hand; two suited men retreat a few steps, vanishing into the crowd. "What do you want?"

"I just told you," Tony says. "Let's make this our show. Give 'em a little something to actually _report_ , aside from the baseless drivel they usually write."

"I hate reporters," Howard agrees, then shakes his head, frowning.

"Yes, you did just agree with me," Tony says helpfully.

"I really don't like you."

Tony grins and twirls Howard's tie around his finger. "I beg to differ."

Howard bats Tony's hand halfheartedly away, rolls his eyes. "At what point did I ever say, 'Ooh Mr. Stark, you're not an annoying prick anymore, and I actually really enjoy your company, please do come around more often'?"

"Just now," Tony says, and fists his hand in Howard's tie to yank him in for a kiss. He drops his martini (totally not on purpose) and it shatters with a loud crinkle of glass -- and actually, whoa, Tony probably shouldn't be able to hear that because this is a _party_ and there are like a thousand people here.

That's when he realizes the entire place is completely, utterly silent.

"You're an idiot," someone shouts.

"I am not," Tony hollers back.

"Not you, Howard!" someone else chimes in.

"I'm not an idiot either!" Howard snaps, affronted, and yes, he does look lovely with kissed-red lips. He stares at Tony, scowling fiercely through the flush. "Why are we idiots? -- not that we actually _are_. Er, not that _I_ am."

"Probably because we've got months of sexual tension stockpiled and we're the smartest men in the world, but we're only just now catching on," Tony informs him, with a smug _I knew something before you did_ grin. "Hey, look at that, I dyed you red again."


End file.
